Its not right for a man to feel like a whipped dog,
Its not right that I should slink like a rebuked child from your presence,
Thou cloven statue,
Thou stately wretch,
Thou shattered visage,
For I’ve beheld you stripped bare
Of pretense and haughtiness,
I’ve held you as you cried
As you felt pain
As you felt your sadness eat you
And that you should feel and speak this way is an affront to my soul.
Why, therefore, do I persist?
I persist in habit.
I persist in love.
I persist in hope.
Turn your sweet smile upon me.
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